


Lifeblood

by gimmicks



Series: Reaper76 Week 2017 [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angst, Crying, Fluff, Frottage, Grinding, Lots of Crying, M/M, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Temporary Character Death, a little bit at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 23:51:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9352028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gimmicks/pseuds/gimmicks
Summary: In another world, Gabriel survives.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This work was done for the 2017 Reaper76 Week, under the prompt "In His Shoes" - Role/Body Reversal.

\----------  
This is how it happens:

 

Gabriel Reyes survives the explosion. As he opens his eyes, he realizes he should probably be dead. Maybe in another life.

 

He struggles to stand; his knees buckle under his weight, and when he tries to put weight on his left arm, his brain is overloaded with pain. He looks down.

 

From the shoulder, his arm is scraped raw, the skin red and mottled with scars. His elbow is bent forward – the wrong way, way too far out – and a grisly piece of bone juts out, stark white against the burning ground. His hand is completely crumbled – what once were fingers is now a mess of crushed bones and sinewy muscle. Gabriel almost loses the contents of his stomach.

 

He combs through the wreckage with his one good arm. He needs to find Jack. Jack, who was right next to him when the first blast hit. The farther out Gabriel looks, the more worried he gets. There’s no way Jack could’ve been flung this far, right? His movements become more desperate – he slips on a rock slope and cuts open his knee on a broken piece of metal in his frantic efforts to get to higher ground and look around. The vibrant red of his blood against his Blackwatch pants is enough to startle him out of his hysteria.

 

He continues searching the rubble, breathing slowly and attempting to stave off the waves of panic rolling in. He’s looked everywhere and he can’t find Jack, what if Jack is buried, trapped, or worse, what if he’s _dead_ –

 

As Gabriel swings his head around, surveying, he catches a scrap of color poking through the endless gray. Royal blue assaults his eyes; he’s never been happier to see it in his life. He stumbles over the fallen slabs of concrete; as he reaches the streak of color, he realizes it’s still attached to Jack’s lengthy cloak – and even better, the man himself is still cradled inside it. What shocks Gabriel, though, is the state Jack’s body is in.  
His breastplate has been torn off, the shirt under it ripped open to reveal his broad chest. His skin is riddled with gashes – likely from being bombarded with chunks of concrete. One of his arms is pinned under a large chunk of the roof; Gabriel is unsure if he’ll be able to move it and get him out. His other arm is clutched to his stomach, where –

 

Gabriel almost throws up for the second time that day.

 

Jack’s stomach has been torn completely open. A jagged edge of steel protrudes from it; flecks of Jack’s stomach and intestines dot the tip. Every time he breathes, the serrated edge cuts against his skin, opening him wider. His free hand is desperately trying to hold his remaining intestines in; Gabriel can hear a wet squelch when he forces them back into the cavity of his torso

 

Blood gushes from the wound; Gabriel guesses a major artery has been pierced. The rod seems to have penetrated his left side, so Jack’s spine may be safe, but he’s losing blood quickly.

 

He looks up to Jack’s face; a pained grimace stretches his lips taut, forehead bunched and eyes squeezed shut. He takes a single shuddering breath, then opens his eyes. “G…Ga-” He delves into a fit of coughing; blood spews from his mouth, running down his chin and into the soot below. Jack’s sudden bout of movement causes the steel edge to once again rub against his skin, slicing it open even more. Gabriel holds him down, trying to keep him still. He takes Jack’s remaining hand, moving it away from the hole in his stomach, and entangles it with his own.

 

“It’s okay, Jackie, it’s okay, I’m here, it’s me, it’s Gabe, remember? Can you see me?”

 

Jack’s visage calms, but only slightly. The corners of his mouth quirk upwards, and his head moves infinitesimally in a nod. He opens his mouth to speak again, but Gabriel closes it and holds a finger up to his lips.  
“Ssh, ssh, Jack, you need to be quiet, I’m here, okay? I’m gonna go see if I can find some help for you, but you need to stay put, okay? You need to stay still while I go get help, cariño, can you do that?”

 

Jack coughs again; the blood that comes up is flecked with organ matter, and there’s more of it. Jack’s eyes flutter closed again, and he lets out a quiet exhale. Gabriel knows the signs of death when he sees them – he gently shakes Jack’s head, attempting to get any sort of response. Jack only groans minutely.

 

It hits him all at once, a sharp pain at the back of his head. Jack is going to die here. There’s no way Gabriel could get help in time; Jack is losing too much blood too quickly. He feels the revelation wash over him, and his body is wracked with a sob. Fat tears begin to roll down his face; they land in the open wound of Jack’s torso, and Jack gives a half-hearted wince at the sting.

 

Gabriel stays with him. He sits among the rubble, stroking Jack’s hair; he notices a few gray streaks in the ocean of gold. He remembers the deal they made the night the Crisis ended; retirement when one of them goes grey. They were going to buy a house in L.A., help the tireless efforts to rebuild the once-sprawling metropolis. They were going to get the house, the kids, the dog, the whole American dream, in love and growing old together. All of it, ripped away in a single moment. 

 

The tears keep flowing; he feels Jack’s breathing slow, feels his pulse become sluggish. The hand in his is barely holding on; Jack’s fingers squeeze pathetically. Gabriel murmurs words of comfort; he supposes it’s as much for himself as it is for Jack.

 

It can’t have been more than a few minutes when he feels the final signs. Jack’s hand slips from his, falls to the ground, useless. He looks up, and Jack’s barely breathing. Gabriel chokes back another sob, and reaches up, cradling Jack’s face in his good hand.

 

He presses one last kiss to Jack’s lips, and it feels like dying.

 

His eyes slide closed. The erratic rise and fall of his chest ceases. The taut lines of his body go lax.

 

Jack Morrison dies.

 

\----------

 

Gabriel runs. He can’t confront anyone in Overwatch; he doesn’t know how the explosion was orchestrated, but he suspects it was from the inside. He can’t trust anyone.

 

He reaches the forest that borders – bordered – the Swiss headquarters. The relief that comes with stepping away from the wreck pushes him faster. He sprints through the forest, good hand steadying himself along the trees. The bark feels good against his fingers; after spending so long with only the scratch of concrete against his hands, the natural aura the forest gives off is nice.

 

As the adrenaline wears off, he begins to feel woozy. He realizes he has failed to staunch the blood flow from his knee and arm, and the loss is making him lightheaded. He stumbles, foot catching on a stray root, and goes tumbling down a sharp incline. Pain streaks through his vision; his bad arm is crushed under his body over and over as he barrels uncontrollably down the slope. Unconsciousness takes over before he even stops moving; as his world fades into black, he wonders if he’ll die here. He wonders if he’ll get to see Jack.

 

\----------

 

Jack awakens.

 

There is pain. All over his body, knives of anguish jab into him. His torso is strangely numb, however – he can’t feel anything there, and he looks down, attempting to assess the condition of his body.

 

His torso is bare; in place of his stomach, there is a large, gaping hole. He can see the bedsheets below him, stark white in contrast to the smoke that hovers at the rim of the hole. The smoke seems to reform into skin as he concentrates; the hole closes minutely, and Jack is surprised. The conversion from smoke to skin is unnatural, although not as unnatural as the fact that _he has a fucking hole in his stomach._

 

Panic sets in as he remembers what happened before he woke up – the explosion, pain radiating from his abdomen, Gabe’s voice, his hand, his comfort, and –

 

Jack’s mind screeches to a halt.

 

He _died._

 

He remembers taking his last breath, the life leaving his body. He remembers Gabe crying, and remembers the last second he gazed at his love, slipping into a chasm of unreality. He remembers the thread of his life unspooling, claiming him and dragging him into nothing.

 

Now he is alive again, albeit with a large portion of his stomach missing. He struggles to focus on the hole, and attempts to funnel all of his energy into an image of his fully-formed torso. Once again, the smoke on the edges rebuilds itself into a sickly version of human flesh, closing the hole even further. Jack feels the tug of bewilderment, but continues concentrating. Slowly, the hole patches itself; the smoke coalesces and his body reforms. He isn’t sure if he reconstructs the organs inside his body, but he’ll have to worry about that later. 

 

After what feels like forever, he sees the edges come together; his skin reforms itself, smoothed over. He can see where the hole was; the skin that filled it in is a sickly gray color, peeling off of his body. He moves a hand slowly up his body to touch it; the material is cold to the touch, and when he pulls his fingers back, he finds they are covered in a soot-like material.

 

He surveys the rest of his body; nothing else seems damaged, other than the barrage of newly-formed scabs on his chest. He sighs in relief, then looks around the room he’s in.

 

He thinks he’s in a hospital of some sort – the bed he’s in looks clinical, but the walls are painted in a soft blue, and the floor is carpeted. At his side, a table has been placed; a digital clock rests on it, informing him it is 1703 in cheery numbers. He sighs; the explosion happened in the morning, so he supposes he’s lost about six hours.

 

The door swings open; startled, Jack swings his head around to find none other than Angela Ziegler standing in the doorway, mouth slightly ajar.  
“Oh, you are awake.” She purses her lips into a frown, walking to the foot of his bed.

 

He coughs out a raspy reply. “Yeah, I guess so. What the fuck happened?”

 

“Well, to put it bluntly, you died.”

 

He laughs, a sick sound. “Yeah, I got that part, but normally when people die they, y’know, stay dead.” He gestures up and down his form. “I could be wrong, but this doesn’t look dead to me.”

 

Angela grimaces, fidgets with the bracelets on her wrist. “Yes. I… tried to revive you. You were dead when we found you – impaled, bled out. However, I couldn’t believe you were really dead. I brought you back to my lab and...” She hesitates. “Jack, I want you to know that I did what I did because I wanted to save you. I didn’t want for it to end up like this.”

 

Apprehension grips Jack. “What… Angie, what did you do?”

 

“I used a colony of nanobots to resurrect you. They were meant to bond to your cells and heal them, but only for a short time. It was supposed to be temporary – just to jumpstart your body into working again. The problem…”

 

Jack is livid now. “Angie, what the _fuck_ did you do to me?!”

 

Angela flinches. “The problem is, the colony seems to have… bound itself to you. To your body. And to make matters worse, your organs were too internally damaged. Nothing can work on its own; the nanobots are the only thing keeping it alive.”

 

Rage overtakes his mind. “You mean to tell me that you turned me into a living corpse?”

 

Slowly, her head bobs up and down. Her ponytail sways; a halo of light hovers above her head. She looks like an angel.

 

How ironic.

 

Jack takes a deep breath. “What about Gabe? Did you do this to him too?”

 

At the mention of Gabe’s name, Angela crumples. Her eyes fill to the brim with tears; her back sags, and she braces one arm against the foot of the bed to steady herself. “Jack… Gabriel, he…”

 

Even without explicit confirmation, Jack knows. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

 

Angela swallows. “We looked, we really did, but… we didn’t even find a body. He was too far under the wreckage. He’s- he’s gone, Jack.”

 

Jack’s rage bubbles over.

 

He leaps out of the bed, throwing a single backwards glance at Angela. Her shocked eyes follow him as he sprints from the room; soon, he assumes, she regains her bearings, and he can hear her running after him. “Jack!” Her shoes clack along the tiled floor. “You need to come back! It’s not safe for you to be out there! The colony still hasn’t stabilized! Your body could fall apart at any second!” 

 

His bare feet pound against the tile as he runs aimlessly through the maze of corridors. He vaguely recognizes his surroundings – he’s in Overwatch’s medical branch; he guesses this part of the compound was spared the wrath of the blast. He can’t help the spike of envy that flows through him; why should these people get to survive when he’s lost everything? 

 

Rows of blank white doors flit through his vision. Behind each, a person, going through their own struggles; all the same to Jack, who races by, registers the doors as nothing but blurs at the edges of his sight.  
Angela is still hot on his heels; she’s ceased trying to reason with him, instead devoting all her energy to catching him. She’s gaining, in fact; even with his enhanced body, his legs are weaker than they were, wobbly and unsure. Panic sets in as he realizes he’s running towards a dead end. As he approaches the end of the corridor, the panic overwhelms him. He can’t go back, back to Angela, back to the woman who made him into this – this _thing_ , he needs to escape, he needs to get out –

 

Through the haze of his mind, a spark is lit. Jack’s vision goes; he hears a whoosh, and then his mind snaps back open. He opens his eyes – when did they close? – to find himself staring at the lush forest that surrounds the HQ.

 

Jack is stunned. He looks behind him – there is a wall about the size of the corridor he was just in. He assumes he must have gone around it – or, he thinks, through it. He looks around, spots a small maintenance gate leading out of the compound, sprints over to it and hops the gate. Descending into the forest, he looks back at the complex. Once standing regal and proud, a symbol of hope and heroism, it now cuts a deep gash into the surrounding area – the light of the moon illuminates failure, the rubble all that remains.

 

Jack disappears into the forest.

 

\----------

 

The soldier sprints through the alleyways of Ilios. His feet pound hard against the pavement; he can feel the impact ripple through his body, his shoulders shaking. Breath comes in heaves; he could slow, but he needs to be somewhere.

 

He skids around a corner, the sound of gunfire ringing in his ears. It gets louder when he presses his back up to a wall, peeking around the corner to see the fight.

 

Three men stand huddled around a payload, their hands gripping assault rifles. They stand in battle stances; one of them is lowered to the ground, on one knee, and the other two are swaying with their feet separated. They are on guard. Considering the gunfire he just heard, the soldier supposes they have a right to be.

 

Then, he looks over the rest of the field. Confusion strikes him; he knows the fighting was real, he could hear the differing reports. How, then can there be an empty field?

 

Just as he begins to question the intelligence of the thugs, he sees a swirl of black hovering just above the ground. The swirl guides itself upwards; the soldier’s jaw drops when he sees the smoky mass coalesce to become a _person._

 

They’re wearing a long black cape, tattered and frayed at the ends and filled with bullet holes. Armored boots cover the attacker’s feet; a tight bodysuit of some sort is fit over their figure as well. Gloves adorn their hands and lower arms; from each finger, a sharp talon extends into the night. Their upper arms, however, are uncovered; the soldier gets a glimpse, and sees gray, peeling skin, an unnatural thing.

 

Over the figure’s face sits a visor; the panel over where the figure’s eyes would be glows a deep red; the bottom of the mask looks similar to a gas mask, filtering out some smoky substance through two filters. A hood adorns the top of the figure’s head, but the soldier thinks he can see the slightest bits of gray poking out from under.

 

The soldier winces when he sees the figure’s weapon of choice. Clenched in their talons is a heavy pulse rifle.

 

Before he can make a move, the figure attacks the three men. Firing off the pulse rifle, it slowly approaches, backing them into a corner; after a moment of silence, the figure reaches out and slides it talons under one of the men’s necks, puncturing his jugular and effectively dooming him.

 

The other two men jitter in horror. The soldier watches on as the figure leans down, pressing its visor close to the dead thug. Then, taking off the bottom faceplate, the figure attaches its mouth to the man’s own.  
The soldier watches as the man’s body seems to shrivel up; his blood and organs seem to disappear, leaving an empty husk of skin, rustling gently in the wind. The figure breaks contact and reattaches their visor, turning to the other two men cowering in the corner.

 

The soldier has had enough. He unclips the two shotguns from his belt, taking off from behind his cover towards the confrontation. He raises his shotguns and, taking a short moment to make sure his aim is at least close, fires.

 

The figure whirls around at the sound of gunshots; their visor faces the soldier, and he knows they’re done for – no way to avoid those bullets. But, to his surprise, and his chagrin, the figure dissolves into mist. The twin bullets jet through; one of them nails one of the men in the head, and his forehead blooms bright red. The soldier inwardly chuckles. Whoops.

 

The figure rematerializes, fires off a pulse round at the soldier. He rolls to the side, taking off in the opposite direction. As he runs along the harbor, the smell of salt hits his nose; combined with the sizzle of pulse munition, he is almost reminded of old Overwatch ops.

 

In his distraction – he is once again reminded that sentimentality can be dangerous – he trips over a ledge in the cobble, sprawling onto his stomach. His shotguns fly in two different directions as he braces his hands on the pavement to stop his impact. He rolls over, attempting to stand again and continue his escape, but finds himself face to face with the mysterious figure.

 

The visor is pumping out more smoke than before; he hopes he made them winded from such a run. Their pulse rifle is aimed directly at him, but they don’t seem to be firing. The soldier takes the opportunity, lunging towards the figure. The rifle is knocked away, firing a round into the side of a nearby vista.

 

A growl erupts from the figure’s visor, and claws dig in to the soldier’s side, sweeping him into the side of a building with a sickening crunch. His mask cracks as well; he can see it splintering down the middle, moonlight shining in. He sinks to the ground, the figure’s foot braced on his stomach.

 

Surprisingly, the figure speaks. “Well, well, well… Look what the cat dragged in.” The voice is deep and masculine, tinged with an electronic undertone. The soldier can hear a malicious smile hidden under the visor. “I see the infamous vigilante has come to try his hand at taking me down.” The figure lets out a low chuckle, putting more pressure on the soldier’s ribs.

 

The soldier chuckles. “Try? I’d say I could do it right now. I’ve been holding back.” In reality, he knows he’s cornered; he’s hoping he can rile the figure up, get them to let their guard down. And it works.

 

The figure rips a hand off the rifle, fisting it in the soldier’s shirt. The soldier is dragged upwards as the figure leans down. “Oh, big bad Mr. I Took Down Los Muertos thinks he can beat me. We’ll have to see about that, won’t we, _buddy._ ”

 

The figure is so caught up in their tirade that they don’t notice how close their faces are. The soldier smirks behind his mask; then, he snaps his head forward with all the force he can muster. It collides with the figure’s visor, and he can hear the snap of the glass shattering. His mask breaks open as well; it falls to the floor, landing with a soft clunk.

 

The figure’s visor seems to be broken; it disengages, unlatching from the clasps. It slides off the figure’s face. The soldier opens his eyes.

 

He is lost, once again, in a sea of everlasting blue.

 

The figure’s mouth drops wide open. A plume of smoke tumbles out.

 

The soldier is speechless; he can only stare at the face of the man he once thought lost forever.

 

It must be a lie. It must be an illusion.

 

The soldier finds his voice again. It comes out scratchy; he hasn’t used it in years.

 

“You’re supposed to be dead.”

 

Jack looks surprised, initially. Then he breaks into raucous laughter, the soft grate of his voice ringing through the soldier’s ears.

 

“So are you.”

 

“Well, I guess we’re good at surviving, aren’t we?”

 

Jack chuckles. He pulls Gabriel into his arms, the pulse rifle discarded. He cards his fingers through the man’s cropped curls, keeping him close. His grip is infinitely tight, as if he believes Gabriel will slip through if he lets go. His eyes begin to well up; tears splat onto Gabriel’s jacket.

 

“I missed you so much.”

 

The admission makes Gabriel’s heart swell; he knows Jack felt the same heartache he did, knows how bad it was to wander alone for all these years. He cups the back of Jack’s head with his hands.

 

“I’m here now, Jackie, I’m here, I won’t ever leave again.”

 

The kiss is bruising, with both of them trying to map out the other, relearn all the familiar planes that they’ve been away from for so long. Gabriel’s hands move down to the small of Jack’s back, tugging him closer. The jut of his hips grinds against Jack’s; he feels a familiar hardness pressing up against his thigh. Jack shudders against his mouth, lets out a small moan; Gabriel snakes his tongue into Jack’s waiting maw as he shoves their hips together.

 

He’s well aware that they’re grinding against each other in the middle of an alley in Greece, but he can’t bring himself to care. He breaks the kiss, buries himself in the crook of Jack’s shoulder and inhales. Jack smells like metal and death; it’s the most welcoming scent he can imagine.

 

He snakes a hand down between them and cups Jack through his pants. The bulge there is blood-hot and twitches at his touch; Jack lets out a soft moan when he squeezes through the fabric.  
“Come on cariño, don’t hold back. Lemme hear you.”

 

As he says it, he unzips the front of Jack’s pants and pulls them down, hooking them underneath his balls. His dick flops out – the skin, like on his forearms, is gray and speckled with bruises. It curves up into the space between them, twitching almost greedily. Gabriel takes it in hand, and Jack lets out a real moan, lips curving obscenely as his eyes squeeze shut and his head tips back.

 

As he begins to stroke Jack, Gabriel takes the opportunity of Jack’s lapse in concentration to roll them over. He perches himself on Jack’s thighs, hand still teasing Jack’s sturdy shaft. He studies the image before him – Jack, with a blue blush high on his cheeks, stretched out on the pavement, keening when Gabriel strokes him – it’s all he could have asked for and more.

 

Jack regains his bearings and paws at the front of Gabriel’s pants – they are tenting with his obvious arousal, and Jack seems to want at it. Gabriel helps him with the button and pushes his slacks and boxers down his hips. His own dick, slightly thicker than Jack’s, springs into the air, and immediately Jack grabs hold of both of their dicks in one hand, rolling down Gabriel’s foreskin and pressing them together.

 

He can feel Jack’s dick, overheated, against his own – it’s one of the best things he’s felt in a while. He bucks into Jack’s grip, rubbing his sensitive shaft against Jack’s, and leans down to kiss him messily. Soon, Gabriel begins a languid thrusting motion into the tight circle of Jack’s fist. Jack lets him go with it; he tightens his hand around Gabriel’s head on the downstroke, and the added pressure, the heat, the press of Jack’s cock against his own, shocks him into letting out a cry of pleasure. It echoes into the night; Gabriel has half a mind to be embarrassed, but he can’t bring himself to care.

 

He knows the end is approaching when Jack seizes up under him; his legs lock, his grip becomes impossibly tight. He can feel the rapid throb of Jack against him; he knows he’s close as well. He leans down to press a hard kiss to Jack’s lips, tracing his teeth with the line of his tongue.

 

Suddenly, Jack’s face scrunches; his eyes slam shut, his mouth opens into a perfect ‘O’. His dick twitches uncontrollably, releasing streaks of white onto his stomach and chest; he spurts so far some of it hits Gabriel’s chin. The one thing that gets Gabriel, though, is the screamed “Gabe!” that comes at the moment of climax. The knowledge that at peak pleasure, Jack is thinking of him, only him, pushes him over the edge.

 

His vision whites out for a split second; he seizes up, thrusting hard into the circle of Jack’s hand once more. His come splatters onto both of their torsos, hot and sticky with passion. He cries out, a straining echo of “Jack!”; the echoes can probably be heard as far as Athens.

 

He collapses down, crushing Jack under his weight, and lets out a shaky breath. Jack turns his head to face him, and a soft smile emerges on his features. “How was that?”

 

Gabriel can’t help but give a grin back. “That was the best thing that’s happened to me in quite a while.” He giggles, blushing and burying his face into Jack’s neck.

 

After a while, reality hits – they’re lying in an alley in the middle of a crowded city. Gabriel begins to get up, ready to make the long walk back to his safehouse, but Jack pulls him back down. “Hold on. I have an idea.”

 

Gabriel groans. “It’s not more sex, is it? Because as much as I’m up for that, we should probably get indoors before people start waking up.”

 

Jack sticks his tongue out. “I’m not stupid enough to risk that, don’t worry. I just may have another method of… transportation.” His eyes flash with a gleam of mischief; Gabriel finds himself slightly worried for what he has planned.

 

Jack can tell. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad. Just let me concentrate.” He closes his eyes; silence falls for a moment. Gabriel admires his face, the graceful curve of his jaw, the grayed skin only enhancing his beauty. His hair has gone white; it makes him look older, wiser.

 

Suddenly, the entire world blinks; Gabriel finds his eyes are useless, and he hears the rush of wind through his ears. Suddenly, he feels himself dropped unceremoniously onto something. It feels like a mattress of some sort – big, comfy, with blankets too. Better than the safehouses he’s been living in these past years.

 

His sight returns, and he finds himself laid out on a bed in what looks to be the cheapest motel room he’s ever seen. Paintings of waterfalls adorn the walls; the paint is a cheap yellow-gray that makes him want to give up the contents of his stomach. A single bedside lamp casts a dim glow through the room; it also allows him to see Jack, standing next to the bed.

 

“What the fuck? How did you even do that?”

 

He chuckles. “Trade secret. Don’t worry, you should be totally fine.”

 

Jack has disrobed, and Gabriel surveys the rest of his body in the low light. Most of the skin is the same patchy grey; however, a large patch over his torso glows with what looks like life; the tissue is a healthy peach color. He wonders why that specific place decided to live on.

 

While he is observing Jack, the man himself speaks. “Go ahead, strip. It’s late.”

 

Gabriel hums in assent, then begins to shuck off his clothes; first the jacket, tacky and leather; then the skintight shirt underneath. He pulls off his gloves with the shirt; they join the pile on the floor. Finally, he peels off his sweat-soaked fatigues; the boxers soon join, crumpled into a heap. Blissfully naked, he collapses back into the bed.

 

Jack chuckles, pulling Gabriel into his arms. He shuffles forward, pressing his chest up against Gabriel’s back; he can feel Jack’s breath tickling the back of his neck.

 

Gabriel starts. “I’m still confused. Aren’t you supposed to be working with Talon?” He sniffs. “I thought we were the good guys, Jack. You went and turned evil.”

 

“I know, I know. I just… didn’t think the world deserved happiness, after what happened. For a while, I just wished I was dead, and I wanted to take everyone down with me.” He huffs out a sigh.

 

Gabriel feels his heart shatter. “Oh, querido, I’m so sorry. I never should have left you.” He wiggles around in Jack’s arms to face him. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been hunting down all the people who betrayed the cause, trying to figure out how it happened. I think I’ve gotten to most of them; they shouldn’t be bothering anyone anymore.”

 

Jack smiles, kisses the tip of his nose. “I’m glad to see you used your time well. I wish I could say the same.”

 

“You did the best you could; I understand that you were hurt and you didn’t really see a way out.” He pecks Jack’s lips in a quick comforting kiss.

 

“I just can’t believe you’re here. We have so much to discuss.”

 

“Patience, cariño.” Gabriel burrows his way deeper into Jack’s embrace, winding his arms around the warm body in front of him. “We can talk tomorrow. For now, we should rest.”

 

Jack hums in agreement. “You’re probably right. Besides, I can’t wait to wake up in your arms again.” He gives a goofy grin, settling into the pillow.

 

Gabriel feels his cheeks light up in a blush. “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. Don’t worry, I’ll be here.” He hesitates, unsure if Jack will be okay with hearing his next words. He starts again, softer. “I love you, mi sol.”

 

Jack’s face softens. “Love you too. Goodnight.”

 

Gabriel closes his eyes and drifts away, content in his lover’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm still a new writer, and this work in unbetaed, so if you see any mistakes or have any constructive criticism, feel free to leave it in a comment or shoot me a message at my tumblr, which you can find [here.](http://actualfatherjackmorrison.tumblr.com)
> 
> Much of the design for Jack's visor was derived from [robospooks'](http://robospooks.tumblr.com) wonderful [Reaver!Jack design](http://http://robospooks.tumblr.com/post/155919054965/very-roughsketchy-concepts-for-roleswapau-reaper), so go look at that. Their art is really good.


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